


Mistletoe, Latkes, and Long-term Revenge Strategies

by pocky_slash



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Retail, Christmas, First Kiss, Hanukkah, Holidays, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles knows that Erik hates working at a department store in the best of times. Being Jewish in a department store during the holiday season is far from the best of times. He does what he can to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe, Latkes, and Long-term Revenge Strategies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeeps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeeps/gifts).



> Written for **jeeps** in the 2012 Secret Mutant exchange for the prompt "During the busy retail holiday season, Charles works in the children's section, Erik does menswear, and store manager Shaw forces Erik to oversee the Santa area." I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to the usual motley crew of betas and cheerleaders, _[redacted]_ for being my cultural sensitivity litmus test, and _Muppet Christmas Carol_ for being the best ever adaptation of Dickens' original.

"Shaw's an anti-Semitic asshole."

Charles looks up from the stack of tiny faux-vintage holiday-themed t-shirts he's folding, already frowning.

"What did he say to you?" he asks Erik, who looks incensed as he squeezes a merchandise gun hard enough to overload it. Charles knows that Erik hates working at a department store in the best of times. Being Jewish in a department store during the holiday season is far from the best of times.

(Charles knows lots of things about Erik, actually. More than he should. He remembers everything that Erik tells him and files it away, a masochistic exercise in trying to appear clever and attentive, as if that will either make Erik notice he's attractive, available, and willing, or magically give him the courage to make a move himself. Charles, who has never even hesitated in going after someone he wanted before, finds this equal parts thrilling and miserable.)

"The nights and weekends seasonal manager up and quit and he fucking expects me to oversee SantaLand until he can hire a replacement!" Erik says. " _Me_! I'm the only Jewish department manager on this shift and he chose _me_ just because he's an _asshole_."

"I'm sure that's not the reason," Charles assures him. "I'm sure he just thinks that menswear is exceedingly well-managed and an example for the rest of the store."

"No," Erik says, "he actually said to me, 'You could stand to have a little more holiday spirit.'"

Charles sighs and leans against the display he's in the midst of filling.

"He's a bastard," Charles agrees.

"He is," Erik mutters. Charles appreciates that Erik doesn't follow that up with, _Can't you get your stepfather to fire him?_ and instead says, "I have plenty of holiday spirit, it's just not _your_ holiday."

Erik sits on the edge of the display table, still frowning, and Charles resists the urge to reach out and smooth the angry wrinkle from his forehead. Instead, he goes back to folding.

"At least it's only nineteen shopping days left until Christmas," Charles says.

"Nineteen days that I'm going to have to spend herding elves while customers mess up my tie displays," Erik replies, but when Charles lays a comforting hand on his shoulder, he leans back into it. "Elves. Your people have weird holiday traditions."

"Don't look at me," Charles murmurs, rubbing Erik's shoulder. "I didn't start them." Erik snorts, shoulders slumped comfortably. Charles can't hide the shiver of pleasure at the knowledge that Erik is comfortable around him. Erik, who is steely and and expressionless and emotionless and superior to everyone else in the store, not to mention all the customers, can relax and bitch and smile in Charles' presence. Three months ago, Charles wouldn't have imagined that Erik even knew how to smile.

It's progress. Not as much as Charles would like to make, but good enough for now.

"Hey," he says, "what time is your lunch break?"

"One," Erik says with a scowl. "There's an elf meeting at noon."

Charles' break is at 11:30, but he's the department manager--he can rearrange before anyone else gets in. 

"Mine too," he says. "Do you want to go to the noodle place?"

"Sure," Erik says. He glances at his watch and then stands up with a groan. "I should get back and make sure the dressing rooms are clean before we open. There have been three used condoms in there this week alone. Can you believe people actually manage to have sex in changing rooms?"

Yes, Charles can. He's had several fantasies that have ended there, in fact.

"I'll see you at lunch," Charles says, and Erik waves distractedly as he leaves, probably already thinking about ways to torture the poor holiday staff. Charles watches him go and doesn't sigh longingly, because he's not a mooning teenager, but it's a near thing.

"Focus," he mutters to himself and returns to his mindless t-shirt folding.

***

Erik confided to Charles over an after-work beer several weeks ago that he doesn't even care about Hanukkah, not really. He's not actually religious at all, he just hates the assumption that of course he _must_ celebrate Christmas. 

"I used to like Christmas, in small doses, before working here," he'd said.

Not anymore.

Charles still isn't sure how Erik came to be working at Xavier's in the first place. He knows that he needs the money to finish up his degree, but he's so laconic and ill-tempered that Charles can think of a half a dozen jobs that don't involve customer service, many of which would probably pay better, that could get Erik through the last year of school.

Not that he's complaining, mind. When Charles first started back in August, he'd taken one look at Erik--impeccably dressed, tall, lean, and gorgeous--and nearly forgotten his own name. 

"That," murmured Raven, who had done her required six months in retail and was finally working with the corporate buyer, doing something that was actually relevant to her interests, "is the night and weekend menswear manager. He's a dish, but he's an unmitigated asshole and he hates this place, so don't get your hopes up."

"I have no hopes," Charles whispered back. "I'm just...appreciating the view."

It was a lie, of course. He had hopes then and he still has them now, even if he and Erik seem to have plateaued at friendship for the time being. It took weeks to get past Erik's defenses, to explain that yes, he was an Xavier and yes, his family owned the place and yes, he was only here because he was required to be here thanks to arcane family rules about inheritance and trust funds and college, but he wasn't like the rest of the family (Raven excluded) and he wasn't going to run off and tell his stepfather if he caught Erik smoking out back while still wearing his name tag.

(If only because he was much more interested in watching Erik smoke. Disgusting habit it may be, but god, Erik's fingers and the curl of his lips and the sound of his lengthy exhales....)

They're friends, now. Charles is maybe Erik's only friend in the whole of the store, maybe the whole of the state, though he's starting to open up to Raven now that he has Charles' assurance that she's not like the other family members either. But Charles is the only person who gets to see Erik loose and as close as he gets to happy. Charles doesn't have many friends, many _real_ friends, at least, and he appreciates the chance to spend time with someone other than his sister, to aimlessly babble without wasting anyone's time, to go out and do things and just be around someone new and interesting. He loves their friendship.

He just really, really believes that he'll love kissing Erik even more.

***

Erik is a tall oasis of order in the chaos of SantaLand.

Charles stops for a moment to appreciate Erik's neatly pressed shirt and trousers, the line of his waistcoat, the way his greenish tie deepens the color of his eyes, before descending into the masses of screaming children and parents. He's good at this. He thinks that Kurt put him in the children's department as some sort of punishment, but the children and parents alike seem to love him and he finds he doesn't seem to mind them nearly as much as everyone else hates their customers. If he hadn't been dreaming of being a scientist since he was old enough to read, he might even consider working with children as a viable long-term career option.

He slides easily through the crowds until he's standing next to Erik, who has his hands on his hips and a moue of distaste lingering on his face. 

"Well, this is...." Charles starts to say, but he trails off when Erik turns to glare at him. "I can help?" he offers lamely.

"If one more person wishes me a merry Christmas, I won't be held responsible for my actions," Erik snaps.

"At least the crowd is so loud you can't hear the Christmas carols?" Charles offers. Erik glares again, then narrows his eyes over Charles' shoulder and snaps, "You! Stand up and ring your bell!" 

Charles turns in time to see a young woman dressed as an elf scrambling to stand up from where she had been sitting on the floor. She plasters a smile on her face and starts ringing her large gold bell again and Erik nods at her in curt satisfaction before returning his attention to Charles.

"Elves," he says, echoing last week's accusations on the downfalls of gentile holidays. Charles raises his hands defensively.

"Have I vomited holiday on you at all this month?" he asks. Erik narrows his eyes again as he shakes his head. Something about the gaze is piercing and makes Charles want to blush, though he manages to refrain.

"You haven't," Erik grudgingly admits. "Which, given what Raven has to say about your love of all things Christmas, is rather surprising."

This time Charles does blush. Damn Raven and her big mouth. Although....

"When were you talking to Raven about me?" he asks.

Erik looks away evasively.

"Raven and I talk," he says, but doesn't elaborate. A small child goes running by them, screaming, with a parent just a few steps behind. Erik scowls at them. "Meanwhile," he says, "Menswear is a mess, the idiots I left in charge over there can't keep track of anything, and somehow there is still a week and a half left until Christmas."

"Would it make you feel any better if I bought you a drink later?" Charles asks. The number of post-work drinks they've been having have increased with the progression of the holiday season. There's nothing quite as painfully lovely as spending a night getting just tipsy enough to bask in the heady burn of attraction while Erik leans close so that his story can be heard over the din of the bar.

"It would, but I can't," Erik says, closing his eyes and squeezing the bridge of his nose. The exhaustion and frustration that are visible for that split second is the most vulnerable Charles has ever seen Erik let himself be in public. "My last final is tomorrow morning. If I leave right after my shift I still won't be home before one."

Charles doesn't let himself take that as a rejection. It's a "not tonight," it isn't a "not ever again."

"I'm sorry," he says. "At least it's your last?" He's wondering if it's too needy to buy Erik a drink after his final instead, wondering if it's weird to make plans outside of the sphere of work-related outings, when Sebastian Shaw's irritating chuckle sounds behind them.

"Socializing on the clock, Lehnsherr?" he asks.

Erik's entire demeanor changes, tension returning to his shoulders and face. 

"Consulting," Charles says smoothly. "I'm the resident expert on dealing with children, after all."

Shaw simpers at him. Charles is frequently glad he can't read minds, because he can only imagine the invectives Shaw has to tamp down out of fear of offending the Xavier heir.

"Well, consultation over," Shaw says. "Get back to work, Lehnsherr. And show some more Christmas cheer. Why don't you go get one of those Santa novelty ties?"

Charles has never seen Erik in less than the sort of perfectly fitted and put together fashion-forward outfit he's wearing now. He's never even seen his sleeves rolled up. Erik had told him once that it was the only perk to working here--a ludicrous discount on general merchandise and an even more jaw-dropping one on the things in his department. Charles can't imagine him in a novelty tie, period, but a Christmas tie? Charles is furious on Erik's behalf.

"Mr. Shaw," Charles says coolly, his hands curled into fists, "I don't know if you're aware, but Erik is Jewish. I'm rather sure that asking him to wear a Christmas tie is against our store's anti-discrimination policy. If you'd like, I can call my grandfather up to clarify."

Shaw's face goes red and blotchy. He looks momentarily like he wants to hit Charles, and then turns on his heel to glare at Erik. "I need order in this department, Lehnsherr. Get back to work. Save the kissy faces for later."

Shaw marches off and Charles lets out a long breath. Erik watches him go and turns back, shaking his head. He's smiling, just a little, and Charles can't quite parse his expression.

"Sorry if I just made things worse," Charles says. "He's so awful, I just couldn't help it."

"Sometimes I really could kiss you," is what Erik says, before turning back to the chaos and wading away through the hordes of screaming children.

"Then why don't you?" Charles asks quietly, but the words are lost over the din of the crowd.

***

Charles sits outside of Kurt's office, debating the the merits of speaking to Kurt versus waiting out the last week and a half until Christmas with the hope that Erik will get a job right after his graduation and not have to spend another Christmas season at Xavier's. There are real reasons for his hesitance that have nothing to do with a man who ignored his son beating the snot out of Charles on a regular basis, like the fact that this truly isn't Charles' battle to fight and the knowledge that Erik would speak up if it was really bothering him so much.

But then, things are different when you're a student spending all your free time working just to pay your bills. Life under Shaw's reign is hard enough for Erik as it is--maybe he doesn't want to make it any worse.

Charles sighs and knocks on the door. It takes a moment, but Kurt eventually calls out, "Yes?"

"It's me," Charles says. Then, as though he didn't grow up with the man and isn't the only employee with an incongruous British accent, he adds, "Charles."

"Oh," Kurt says. "Well, come in, I guess."

Charles smoothes down his cardigan and makes sure his tie is knotted neatly and his slacks aren't wrinkled, then opens the door and steps into Kurt's office.

Kurt's at his desk, leaning over sales figures. He doesn't even look up.

"Make it quick," Kurt says. "I have real work to do."

"Right," Charles says. He swallows. "I just wanted to--well, there's a particular store manager whose behavior is, frankly, rather appalling and I wanted to bring it to your attention."

"Hm?" Kurt says. Charles sighs.

"Sebastian Shaw," he continues. "He's the nights and weekends manager. He--"

"I know who he is, Charles," Kurt says. "I hired the man. Good guy. Great manager. Really knows his stuff. I think he might be useful on the corporate side of things."

Charles' stomach turns. He might not be interested in pursuing the family business, but that doesn't mean he wants Sebastian Shaw representing Xavier's. 

"He's...not," Charles says quickly. "He's very rude, especially to--I have a friend who's Jewish and I'm rather concerned with the dismissive attitude Shaw takes towards him. He's making him work SantaLand and he purposely--"

"That doesn't sound like Sebastian," Kurt says. "We do what we can to be inclusive, but this is America. We have other locations to think about. We can't change the whole way we do things here because of one seasonal employee."

"He's worked here for three years," Charles says. "And I'm not asking you to change things, I'm just saying that Shaw is being rude to him about it."

Kurt turns around his expression bland.

"And I'm telling you that's not true," Kurt says. "Is there anything else, Charles? I have actual work to do here."

Charles deeply wishes he could call his grandfather and tell him about all of this. As much as he would rather be in a lab than in a CEO meeting, he hates that this is what Xavier's is becoming and hopes every day that one of his cousins or Raven manage to work their way up the food chain before Grandfather dies and leaves Kurt in charge.

"The Christmas party," Charles says, tone clipped. Kurt rolls his eyes and turns back to his desk.

"It's a holiday party," Kurt says.

"There are red and green decorations and Santa hats for every employee," Charles says.

Kurt snorts. "Charles, you do understand that your friend isn't the only Jewish person who works here, don't you? That we have Hindus and...all sorts of other...whatever religions here. No one has ever complained before. Christmas is an American holiday, not a Christian one."

"That's not true for everyone," Charles says. "That's not even true for most people, just because--"

"And I can't help but notice," Kurt continues, "that _you're_ here, not your friend. Did it occur to you that he's just using you as a direct line to me?"

Charles flushes with anger. "He doesn't even know I'm here!" he protests. "He didn't--"

"Then why _are_ you here if he doesn't care?" Charles stares at the back of Kurt's head mutely. "Don't waste my time, Charles. If he wants Hanukkah crap or whatever, he can bring it himself. Otherwise, he'll eat and drink what we provide. I doubt he's turning his nose up about his 'Christmas' bonus."

Charles sighs.

"Close the door on your way out," Kurt says, and Charles has to breathe deeply as he does so to keep from slamming it.

***

The holiday party for the nights and weekends staff is at a bar around the corner and when Charles gets in, the Christmas music is blaring and his co-workers are already drinking. He sighs as he unwinds his scarf and peers through the crowd. The potluck food is spread out along the wall and the space is be-decked with holly and lights and mistletoe. 

Charles allows himself to have exactly one mistletoe fantasy before hanging his coat on the coatrack and slipping into the crowd, his eyes locked on where Erik is leaning against the wall. He snags a glass of wine from the table as he inches past, smiling when Erik catches his eye.

"Well," Erik says, "I can see how this is a holiday party and not a Christmas party."

"I think I saw latkes on the potluck table?" Charles offers weakly.

"Those would be my contribution to the evening," Erik says dryly and Charles shrugs.

"I--well, I mentioned it to my stepfather," Charles says. "He seemed to think that--well, he thinks many vile things, so I don't know why I assumed his thoughts on this would be less so." He finishes his glass of wine in one long swallow and offers Erik a small smile. "I'm sorry."

Erik treats Charles to another one of his unreadable expressions. "You talked to your stepfather?" he asks.

"I did," Charles says. "I'm sorry. I know I should have said something to you, but Shaw makes me _so angry_..." He shrugs.

"No," Erik says. "Uh...thanks. I know you hate him. Your stepdad, I mean."

"It would take too much energy to hate him," Charles admits. "I just...try to ignore him, if I can."

Erik nods and rolls his shoulders. He's rolling an empty beer bottle between his hands. Charles forces himself not to stare.

"Uh, do you need a refill?" he asks, nodding towards the bar table, where two young men dressed in black are putting out bottled beer and pouring disposable glasses of wine.

"Sure," Erik says. "Thanks." 

Charles takes Erik's empty bottle from him and tosses it and his own empty wine glass in the recycle, then manages to politely elbow his way to the drinks table to grab two fresh beers. He really should slow down and eat something if he's going to be spending all night with Erik around their co-workers, but there will be time for that later. For now, he'd like to enjoy a beer while leaning close to Erik and maybe work on building up to asking what Erik is doing for New Year's and does he want to go to Raven's party with Charles?

Those hopes are dashed, however, when Charles makes his way back over to their spot on the wall and sees one of the girls from the shoe department chatting with Erik. He takes a little reassurance from the fact that Erik doesn't seem nearly as engaged as she does.

"You know," she says as Charles gets within hearing distance, "I'm standing under the mistletoe." Oh god, she is. She is, and that's where Charles had been standing. He'd been right there. He had the perfect opening and now it's gone.

Erik glances up and then says, "Yes, and?"

The girl frowns. "Well, you know what you're supposed to do under the mistletoe, don't you?" she asks.

"No," Erik says. "I'm Jewish. We don't have mistletoe traditions."

The girl stares at him skeptically and Charles takes that as an opening to slip back into the conversation.

"Beer," he says, holding one out to Erik.

"Thank you," Erik says. "Anyway, as I was saying before you left, I spent about four hours in the build room and I still couldn't get the back panel in line with the rest of the casing, so--"

The girls wanders away and Erik trails off.

"Sorry," he says. "I've found the best way to breed disinterest in someone I want to be rid of is to talk about my field of study."

Charles laughs and relaxes, moving easily to the piece of wall the girl had occupied and cursing himself again for not noticing the mistletoe sooner.

"I have sort of the opposite problem," Charles admits. "For a long time I had a series of truly terrible pick-up lines based on genetics. I pulled them out at bars, mostly, trying to pick people up."

"I'm sure the boys and girls were falling all over themselves," Erik says in that way that makes it hard to tell if he's joking.

"Yes, well," Charles says. "I was young and stupid and good looking enough that it didn't matter."

Erik smiles with all his teeth. "It was last year, wasn't it?" he asks, and Charles laughs and admits, "Yes, it was."

"Lehnsherr!"

Charles mutters a curse under his breath. He'd really hoped that Shaw would skip this party in favor of the corporate invitation Charles knows he probably got, but that was a silly hope. Why would he miss an opportunity to harass Erik?

"Enjoying the _holiday_ party?" he asks, smirking. As if on cue, "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" starts to play from the loudspeakers. Erik doesn't say a word, but his knuckles go white around his beer bottle. Charles has had it.

"You...you...you're a _grinch_!" Charles shouts.

It's...not precisely what he wanted to say. It seems to throw Shaw for a loop, though. Heartened, Charles rushes to go with it.

"You can't stand to see people around you not miserable and scared, so you actively try to ruin their lives to make yourself feel better!" he says. "Well, it's not going to work! Erik's self-worth isn't dependent on your approval of his identity! He's going to enjoy himself no matter what you do to try and ruin his spirits."

Shaw blinks at him, mouth hanging open. Charles grabs Erik's wrist and says, "Come on. You're going to dance with me," and pulls him away from the wall and towards the press of bodies on the makeshift dance floor. He knows his face is red and, the music isn't really right for dancing, but he doesn't care. He's making a point.

Erik puts his hands on Charles' hips with raised eyebrows.

"Wow," he says, succinctly summing up the encounter.

"Oh god, I'm sorry," Charles says. "I didn't mean to--he'll probably be worse now. He's my boss too, I should have--we don't have to dance. I just...said whatever jumped into my mind to get us away and--"

He looks up at Erik, who mercifully grins at him.

"It's okay," Erik says. "I don't need you to fight my battles for me, but that was--"

"Idiotic?" Charles suggests. "Oh god, I called him _the Grinch_."

"No," Erik says. "It was...bold. And cute."

Charles turns those words around in his mind as they sway to the music.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Erik asks. "I think I've had enough holiday cheer."

"Sure," Charles says. Hopefully being away from their co-workers will curtail any further bouts of insanity. "Do you want to go to the bar?"

"How about we go to my place?" Erik says. "If you don't mind. I'm in Queens, but it's not far on the train. Or--I have some cash, we could take a cab."

Erik's place. Erik just invited Charles back to his place.

"Um, I have my laptop hooked up to my television," Erik continues, studying the floor. "I've been watching QI because you keep hounding me about it and we could always--"

"Yes!" Charles blurts out. "Yes, yes, let's go, please." He adds, as an awkward excuse for his haste, "This party is awful."

Erik grins and there's something almost awkward about it around the edges. "Great," he says. "Let me get the latkes. I pulled my mom's recipe out to make them--I'm not going to leave them for these idiots."

"Excellent," Charles says. "Yes. Great." Oh god, he needs to stop talking. "I'll just...get my coat and meet you at the door?"

"Sure," Erik says. They stand there, Erik's hands on Charles' hips, Charles' hands on Erik's shoulders, both of them still using two fingers to hold their beer bottles. The moment stretches out until the song changes and "The Chipmunk Song" is suddenly blaring through the speakers.

"Oh god," Charles says, pulling away. "Go, go go."

"On it," Erik says, and darts towards the food while Charles elbows through the crowd for their coats.

***

Two hours later, Charles is firmly tipsy and giggling on Erik's couch as the panelists on QI go on a tangent about giant sea turtles. Erik is laughing too and, better than that, he's lost his tie and unbuttoned his waistcoat. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and he's shed his socks and shoes. His feet are unfairly attractive and on display for Charles to look at as they pick at the remains of the latkes, already stuffed to the gills.

"Oh, wow," Charles manages to say, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "I forget that it's terrible to watch that bit on a full stomach."

"Some warning, next time," Erik agrees, and then drains his beer. "I was going to offer to order pizza or something, but--"

"Oh god no," Charles says. "I'm stuffed. Besides, you paid for the cab, I would have paid for the pizza if I didn't just eat about twenty pounds of potatoes."

"I was afraid they wouldn't turn out right," Erik admits. "This is the first time I've ever made them by myself. I don't actually...you know, do Hanukkah. Not since my parents died. I don't do any of the holidays, really. Shaw just--"

"You don't have to explain," Charles says. "Even if you don't celebrate Hanukkah, that doesn't mean you automatically have to celebrate Christmas. Shaw's an ass. I almost wish he'd just take the corporate job I'm sure my stepfather has offered him."

"Then he wouldn't get to torture me any longer and where's the fun in that?" Erik mutters, shaking his head. He sighs and tips his head back and Charles lets himself stare at Erik's throat for five seconds before looking away. "Anyway, still. You didn't have to stuff down my crappy cooking."

"Erik, no," Charles says, "they were delicious. Really. I can definitely get behind a holiday that encourages the consumption of piles of fried potatoes."

Erik laughs and turns slightly, leaning on the back of the couch and staring at Charles. "My mom would have liked to hear that," he says. Then, almost hesitantly, "She would have liked you, period."

There's a shift. A shift in the tone of the conversation, in the atmosphere in the room, in the currents of energy between them. Charles' stomach flutters in anticipation. His palms sweat.

"I'm sure I would have liked her too," he says carefully. "I mean, if she was anything like you..."

Erik snorts. "Unfortunately not," he says. "For one thing, she was actually nice."

"You're nice," Charles says. He reaches out and tugs on the edge of Erik's sleeve, his lips curling into a small smile. There's a loose thread sticking out where the cuff has been rolled into Erik's elbow. Charles concentrates on it and picks at it.

"I'm not nice," Erik murmurs. When Charles looks up at him, he's staring down at Charles. He has really magnificently beautiful eyes. Charles can't look away.

"You're nice to me," he all but whispers. And Erik leans forward and kisses him. 

Erik's hands come up to cup either side of Charles' face, he shifts closer on the couch, and his mouth is pressed against Charles'. The jumbled shock and elation give Charles pause before he can manage to kiss back, but Erik doesn't have time to stop, let alone pull away, before Charles is moving his lips, opening his mouth to sigh against Erik, curling his fingers into Erik's hair and pulling him closer.

Charles tilts his head to the side and Erik snatches the opportunity to change the angle of the kiss and get closer. His tongue drags across Charles' bottom lip slowly and deliberately, followed by his teeth. Charles squeaks and then moans and Erik shivers at the sound.

"I have never," Erik whispers, pulling just far enough away to get the words out, "wanted to fuck someone as badly as I wanted to fuck you when you called Shaw a grinch."

Charles' heart stutters in his chest. He can't breathe for how hard the words hit him.

"First, you totally ignored the mistletoe I got you under and then you just--he's not even your problem and you tore into him and the look on your face--I would have gone down on my knees right there--"

Charles gasps.

"You can't just say that!" he wheezes. "You can't just--" He pushes Erik back and crawls onto his lap, eliciting a grunt of surprise. He tries to pick up where he left off, leaning down to capture Erik's mouth again, but he freezes. "Wait," he says.

Erik presses a kiss to his neck and looks up at him. His pupils are blown. Charles forgets momentarily what he was going to say.

"I'm waiting," Erik says hoarsely.

"The...the mistletoe," Charles manages to say, blocking out the part of his brain that's short-circuiting over the sound of Erik's voice, the feeling of his fingers tugging Charles' shirt out from his trousers. "You planned that?"

"Of course," Erik says. "And...glared at anyone who tried to stand next to me until you showed up."

Charles can't help his grin.

"Oh, don't be so smug," Erik says, and pulls Charles down for another kiss and another until long after Charles loses count.

***

Michael Caine is begging the ghost of Christmas yet to come to please let him change when Charles' buzzer goes off. He's not ordered food yet and Raven won't be back until the thirtieth, so it isn't any of her friends. He approaches the buzzer with some hesitance. 

"Hello?" he asks.

There's a pause and then the crackle of static and, "Hello? Charles?"

"Erik?"

Another pause. 

"Yeah, hi," Erik says. "Can I...can I come up?"

Charles blinks.

"Um, it's Christmas Eve," he says.

"I know," Erik says.

Charles blinks again and presses the release button and then slowly moves to unlock his door. He waits for a long moment, just staring stupidly at the door before it hits him that Erik is about to be up in his flat for the first time and it's really horribly incredibly obvious that he and Raven are utterly helpless when it comes to cleaning or putting things away or, well, not living in filth. He wants to rush to clean up the worst of it, but he doesn't even know where to begin. He makes a mad dash for the half empty mugs of tea and dirty plates and is lunging into the kitchen to put them in the sink when he hears the knock on his door.

"Coming!" he shouts.

The rest of the room will just have to stay a disaster area. He trips over to the door, tries to smooth down his wrinkled, too-large sweater, and then pulls open the door.

Erik's standing on the other side, of course, holding a brown paper bag that smells like Chinese food.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi," Charles says. It's only been three days since the holiday party. He wonders if it's acceptable to kiss Erik on sight yet. He goes for it anyway, stepping forward and resting one hand against Erik's chest and rocking up on his toes to press a kiss to the corner of Erik's mouth. Erik smiles into it. "This is a surprise."

"Yeah," Erik says. "I was going to call but Raven said--well." Erik reaches out and slides a hand against Charles' jaw, pulling him forward for another, longer kiss.

"Raven?" Charles asks when Erik pulls back.

"I talked to her before he left," Erik admits. "If the holiday party didn't work out this was my back-up plan." He holds up the bag of Chinese food.

"Your back-up plan was Chinese food?" Charles asks, then leans over and kisses Erik again, because he can and it makes Erik smile.

"Yes," Erik says. "Raven told me you were going to be alone and I thought--well, I thought you might like some company." He kisses Charles again and this is good. Kissing games. There are few things he likes more _A Muppet Christmas Carol_ , but this is an acceptable substitute.

"It's Christmas," Charles says, and then another kiss. 

"I know," Erik says. "That's why I brought the traditional food of my people." 

Charles laughs. "No," he says. "I mean...I know you don't like Christmas. And I'm...Christmasy."

He gestures around the apartment, to the tree and the lights and the television, which is still paused on the spooky Muppet Victorian graveyard. He sheepishly steps back and gestures to himself, wearing the oversized Christmas sweater that Raven gave him a few years ago. Erik looks it all over, his eyes lingering on Charles, and shrugs.

"So?" he says. "I like _you_. And you like Christmas and...you shouldn't have to be alone. That's the whole point of the thing, right?"

Charles nods slowly.

"It is," he agrees. "I just--thank you. I'm watching a movie." He scratches the back of his neck and admits, "Okay, I'm watching half a dozen movies and I'm only on the second one. You're going to be sick of Christmas movies by tomorrow."

"I don't know," Erik says. "I plan on distracting you during a lot of them, so." He smiles, the one with all his teeth that makes Charles' knees weak. "Come on. The food's going to get cold." He takes Charles' hand and pulls him towards the couch.

"I just feel bad," Charles says, although he allows himself to be pushed down into the cushions and handed a plastic fork. "You came all the way over here for my holiday and we spent yours watching QI and having sex on your couch."

Erik pulls out an endless stream of cardboard cartons and plastic containers, lining them up on the coffeetable.

"First off," he says, "my holiday ended like, a week ago and also I'm a terrible Jew. Secondly, having sex on the couch is a lot more fun than reciting prayers. Hanukkah's nice, but it's not really anything special. If you're that hung up on it, I can take you to Passover. Or, I think my cousin sometimes has a Purim party. She's kind of an ass, but it can be fun." He shoves a plastic container at Charles. Closer inspection reveals pork dumplings. "Terrible Jew," he repeats off of Charles' skeptical look.

Charles shakes his head, biting back his smile. He snags a dumpling on his fork and pauses to consider what Erik has just said. Purim he's unfamiliar with, but Passover....

"Isn't Passover in April?" he asks.

"March this year," Erik replies. "Uh, I think."

Charles can't hold back his smile any longer. "March," he says. "Playing the long game, then?" They've not really talked about this, any of it. It was so fast--the holiday party and then they'd seen each other at work the past two days, but only briefly. The store was mobbed and they could do little more than steal kisses on breaks. Yesterday before work Charles ran Raven to the airport so she could meet her friends in Paris and after work he was too tired to do more than have a glass of wine at the bar, curled up in a booth with Erik until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. They worked all day today and, well--there are certain Christmas Eve traditions that he didn't want to subject Erik to, even if he was doing them alone this year.

Not alone after all. Maybe not alone for a long time. He certainly hopes that's the case, at least. 

"Yeah," Erik confirms. "I mean, I graduate in May and I plan on quitting the day after. If I want to have sex in every dressing room before I go as revenge, I'm going to need to keep you around for a while."

"Oh, well, in that case," Charles says, but he can't shake the grin from his face. "Now, shush. If you're going to stay, you need to be quiet for the end of this movie. And not laugh at me if I start to cry when Beaker gives his scarf to Michael Caine."

"I would never," Erik assures him. He leans back against the couch and allows Charles to lean against him, warm and comfortable and happy to spend the night sharing pork dumplings in front of the television. Happy to spend many nights doing it, in fact, in the weeks and months and, if he's very lucky, years still to come.


End file.
